Spring Tide (29 page)

Returning, I saw him sitting on the beach, staring at the water. Tears rolled down my face, and as if my silent sorrow was a siren he turned his head to me.
How did this happen?
He stood.
Why am I this?
He walked to me.
What does it mean?
His arms enclosed me.

“Please don’t cry. It breaks my heart to see you cry.” He ran his hand over my hair.

“I’m so …”

“I know. I know.”

With a long sigh, our connection was restored. He wiped the tears from my face and took me inside to the couch.

“What am I supposed to do now?” I brought my legs to my chest.

“Live your life.”

I looked at him briefly, dismissed his answer, and put my head on my knees.

“Two years ago, I was flying back from France, had a layover in Austin.” He put his hand on my calf. “I was hangin’ out at the gate when I felt you, your soul. I’d never had anything like that happen before, sensing someone without seeing and focusing on the person. I looked around, walked the concourse, even went outside. I concentrated on everyone around me but none of them felt like you. It made me wanna skip my flight and roam Austin. I don’t know how to explain it, but I knew right then that you were the one for me.”

“I don’t think I was at the airport.”

“I don’t think you were either. It was more like I was within range of you. I was crazy confused, didn’t know what to do or where to look first. So I moved to Corpus a month later to wait for you, knowing if I was right, you’d go to the water and show up somewhere on this coastline sooner or later, for a day or a weekend or for good. And you did.”

“You packed up and left L.A. because you had a feeling in the airport?”

“A strong feeling, yeah.”

“If you knew I would be this, why didn’t you tell me? Why have you been giving me a snow job for months on end?”

He bowed his head. “I made a lot of mistakes with you and I’m sorry, very sorry. When we met, I really thought you’d be aware within weeks. I never should’ve started a relationship with you or let you be vamped by my energy and I’m ashamed of that. But you smell like lavender and you taste sweet and your skin is soft and I’d been waiting so long for you. Remember when you slept for three days? How happy and kinda weird I was acting? Your eyes were lit when you woke up. The big sleep was the sign your energy was good to go, that you’d be aware, but then you weren’t. Psychologically you weren’t ready and your light went away. And I couldn’t just tell you because it’s something you have to discover for yourself and accept, the same way you accepted our connection. If I’d told you, would you have believed me?”

“I might’ve … probably not.”

“If you knew about it before you were aware it might’ve scared you, making the inevitable that much harsher.”

“Aware?”

“Aware of your magic. Today you’re aware.”

“Magic is illusion.”

“Sometimes. Magic, energy, power—whatever you wanna call it, you can feel it. You know it’s inside of you.” He gently poked me in the stomach.

“I don’t understand.”

“There’s no book I can give you that tells you everything you need to know about our world. But now that you’re aware, I’ll answer any question you have straight up.”

“When I was walking, I passed four or five people and looked right at them. They didn’t see my eyes.”

“The only ones who can see it are people like us. It’s how we identify each other.” His eyes gleamed and faded to normal. “Yours are gonna stay lit for at least a week or two. It’s a tip off to the rest of us to take you aside and say ‘hey, need to tell you a few things’ and help you out. After that the glow’s most often triggered by your emotions—like the glow for anger is different than the glow for fear or the glow for passion.” He smiled slightly and his eyes glowed softly as I’d seen so many times right before he’d kissed me. “Kris, your eyes have been lit off and on since before we went to Hawaii. Your eyes were fired up half the time we were in Hawaii, I think, because you were so relaxed, but your brain still didn’t want to see it. You’re special. You shouldn’t’ve been able to see my eyes or energy ’til today. The shock that happens when we touch shouldn’t happen for a few days from now, and the dream, the energy dream, shouldn’t happen until another few weeks after the spark. That we connected before your awareness, before sex is impossible. That you’ve been using your energy, unaware, is radical. You are unique.”

“I’m uniquely freaked out.”

“We all are when it happens. Most become aware not seeing another one of us for days or even weeks, having no idea what’s happening to them. You’re lucky—you have me, Donovan, and Julia. When they get back from Ireland, you’ll see their eyes and their magic.”

Twelve thousand questions ricocheted in my brain, but one took precedence. “What the hell are we? ’Cause, dude, I don’t want live in the ocean, be some sort of fish-person.”

He bit his cheek. “There’s no living in the ocean; that’s just me. You don’t see Julia out there. She just likes to paint it. We’re The Chosen.”

I looked to the side and scratched the corner of my mouth.
The what?

He put a finger to his lips. “It’s like this. The Chosen have been associated with lots of different groups all over the world for ages: Tuatha Dé in Ireland, the Druids in Britain, the Dogwood People of the Cherokees, and a whole host of others, but we’re none of ’em. Julia thinks that since we’ve lived with and helped people for so long, we may have seeped into the folklore of some cultures, but that’s all it is: stories about magic. You’re more confused than before, huh?”

“Little bit. Are we talkin’ Old Testament gone new age? Like before I know it I’m living in a commune, doomsday is coming, and cyanide punch is free?”

“No! What I’m trying to say is that we’ve been around for a very long time, have lived with humans and served our purpose, and we still do. You’re one of The Chosen.” He extended his hand. “Welcome.”

The Chosen. It was as though the name itself had been chosen to prevent me from being able to think of a follow-up question. I would’ve accepted being a descendent of Atlantis more readily. “But I’m drawn to the water. So are you …”

“That’s right. There’re several different groups of Chosen who tend to live in specific areas. Julia, Donovan, me, and ones like us are more at ease—our energy is better calibrated so to speak—when we’re near the ocean. I think you’re part of our group, our assembly. Other groups operate better in the desert or the mountains, and there’s one that’s rooted with plants and can live peacefully almost anywhere. Kris, I know it doesn’t seem like a blessing, but it is. You were chosen because of the person you are and the beauty of your soul.”

“How is this a blessing? I’m damned.”

Pain crossed his face and he didn’t speak for ten seconds. “You’re not damned. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Look, we’re given the freedom to live our lives as we want, but our purpose is to help people in any way we can. People like Sylvia, like your dad or my mom, anyone who’s struggling with a problem. You help people all the time. This is the same thing with much more hope. We’re given our energy to help, heal, try to save, our bodies and minds strengthened for the mission. Imagine the good you could do.”

I’d wanted to do something for Sylvia, clear her mind from alcohol. I would have done anything to help Dad control his temper. It was too much to take in: The Chosen, its meaning, the life I’d always known blown to bits.

“This isn’t happening.” I stood. “I’m baking.”

“Baking won’t change who you are.”

“Cookies make everything better.”

I stirred the living crud out of corn syrup, butter, and brown sugar over medium heat, added the dry ingredients, and dosed the batter onto sheets. As I closed the oven door he turned me around, putting me firmly against him. As his tongue crossed my lips, my heart didn’t slow; it fluttered and began to pound furiously—the Great Chicago Fire. There was no dive, no submersion, no drowning, but white-hot burning that far surpassed what I’d felt previously. My arms moved up his neck, pulling hard to bring him closer as I was practically crawling up his body to get deeper into him. He brought my legs around his waist, his breathing short. We were charged, the heaviest attraction increasing with every second.

“Feel the difference?” he said, voice thick.

“Yes.”

“We’re in balance now.”

“Kiss me.”

He lowered his face to mine, and he was the world.

Once the cookies had cooled, I picked up one and gave him one. Getting the milk out of the fridge, I dropped the carton and spilled a quarter-gallon all over the floor. After cleaning it up, I turned to get another cookie.

Crumbs!
“You ate them all? You didn’t save one for me? I find out I’m a …”
A Chosed? A Chosian? A Choosed—that sounds like a sneeze.
“I don’t even know what to call myself.”

“You’re a bright.”

I was rendered speechless again.

“Bright,” he repeated. “You know, like our energies’ colors … and ’cause it sounds a hell of a lot less condescending than The Chosen.”

“I find out I’m a … bright,” I felt stupid saying it, “and you eat all the cookies.” I glared at the empty sheet.

“I’m sorry, really liked them. Again, really sorry, didn’t mean to, so good.”

With the cookies all gone, I sat on a footstool in the pantry and rearranged its contents, a mindless task of organization to quiet my mind.
All the boxes of pasta should go together in their own row. Geez, Julia.
“J, I’m sorry I said a lot of bad things to you earlier, blasted speed metal.”

“Beautiful, I freaked much harder than you. Forget about it. I want you to know that a lot of us have bouts of anger during the first year. It’s your body and mind adjusting to your power. It doesn’t mean you’re becoming your dad. Okay?”

“No.”

He took a can of soup from my hand and put it on the wrong shelf. “I’ll be here for you.”

He picked up a pizza an hour later, afraid my journey into the pantry might prompt me into an all-night festival of cooking, and he wasn’t wrong. It was that, a ten-mile run, or a three-hour solo jam session. The revelation had left me barren of normality, an unknown power growing inside my body, and I straightened up half of the house to quell the scream. I was drowsy before nine, tired from emotion, his whisper to sleep well crossing my ears as my eyes closed.

For the next few days, the coffee talk each morning was the same.

“I don’t want this, J.”

“Everyone has magic, a brightly colored light in their soul, a reason to be. You’re not so different from before and neither is your life.”

I discovered a few things on my own in the first forty-eight hours of being chosen, although I was having a hard time with the title and the condition in general. I was still very much human. Burns and cuts hurt as bad as before, but weren’t as severe and healed remarkably fast. My body had a natural protection, making me resistant to injury. I dropped a cast-iron pan onto my bare foot and it was damn painful but there was only a small bruise. I was tempted to experiment with a larger pot or an anvil but felt strange about purposefully mutilating myself.

My concentration was acute. Focus cultivated speed and accuracy. Chopping large amounts of food was a cinch. I could read a book in two days instead of a week. My guitar and I were joined like never before, shredding like it was the end of days, amp set to eleven. Upon hearing a section of music once or twice, I could play it back precisely, my magic synthesizing the compression waves with my hands. Jericho was being a good sport about it, didn’t complain about having to listen to me crank out the greatest guitar solos of all time, solos I hadn’t believed I would ever be able to finger.

I was stronger and faster. By envisioning any movement, my body would do it within the confines of my human joint and skeletal systems. My energy provided flexibility and agility like Jericho had. My vision and hearing were the same, but I was disappointed to find I couldn’t fly. I stood on the deck railing, fifteen feet off the ground, and pictured myself soaring like a bird. I dropped like a stone into the sand, feeling incredibly dumb.

There was much I needed to know and many of my questions were put on hold until Julia’s return. She’d counseled him and he insisted she should advise me as well, her experience providing a much better explanation of our existence. However, “purpose” was a word he often used. One afternoon I spent an hour trying to move a scrap of paper with my mind and couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do it because it served no purpose. The untangling thing he did with my hair was possible because it made me happy and therefore had purpose.

“And the purpose of my sending alternative rock into your brain?” I’d asked. “Sexy grooves in the kitchen? Doesn’t seem too meaningful.”

“Julia would say there’s a reason for everything, but I think it’s a byproduct of our connection,” he’d said and shrugged.

“Purpose of whispers?”

“Whispers are like spells. The idea is that the mind hears what the ear doesn’t. They’re kinda like a post-hypnotic suggestion, but less meddling. The person I whisper to thinks the words are his or her own thought and because of that are more likely to break a bad habit or correct his or her behavior. For instance, some nights I’d go downtown and look for hookers—”

“Did you say hookers?”

“Yeah. I’d hit the streets, act like I was looking for a date—”

I put my hands over my ears. “Please stop talking.”

“Hear me out. It wasn’t my thing. I did it for Julia.”

I made the
ew
face.

“What? Julia’s tight with the gal that runs Rebekah’s Foundation.”

“Oh, I’ve seen it. It’s a women’s counseling center or something?” I pointed west. “It’s in the kinda slummy part of downtown?”

“Julia volunteers there and asked me to get involved. Anyway, I’d pretend to look for some action and when one approached to talk business I’d whisper to her that her body was precious, that she wanted more for her life, that she could accept help. Then I’d leave a card for the foundation with her. Most of the girls would come with me to Rebekah’s right then. Within a year or so I’d see them out on the streets, talking to other girls that have the same problems they had. It’s an incredible thing—helping one person and seeing that person help another two or three.”